


The Prince Next Door

by sunalso



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Marriage Proposal, Modern Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-04 06:10:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17299238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: AU. Jemma’s moving into a new flat and runs into an intriguing new neighbor. Six months later, they’re in love, and Jemma has a secret she’s planning to surprise him with on Christmas morning but Fitz has an even bigger secret, one that’s fast catching up with him. It’s a Christmas neither will ever forget.Beta'd by Gort





	1. Something New

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AGL03](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGL03/gifts).



_ A/N: For @AGLO3 who asked for a modern royals au. (And a ball!) A very late happy holidays to you!  _

_ For this au I invented an entirely new country, an independent island in the North Sea off the coast of Scotland (Called The Isle of Alba) _

 

 

The dream job had not lived up to its name. 

Jemma had been sure she’d love managing the biochemistry research division of a large, multinational pharmaceutical company. The joy had quickly dissipated when she’d discovered that money was the god her superiors worshiped, not finding cures and eradicating deadly diseases. 

After her latest project had been shut down because it might offer a very inexpensive way of treating a rare disease, one which the company currently sold a medication for at more than ten thousand dollars a month, Jemma had tried to quit. Her bosses, probably worried she would work for a competitor and spill trade secrets, had offered her a yearlong paid furlough to work on an idea of her choice. She could come back at the end if she wanted, but if she didn’t, she’d be a year out of the loop on the newest things the company was working on. 

Jemma had chosen dendrotoxins to focus on and had a stack of journals and books to begin her research with. Which were in a very heavy box she was struggling to carry up to her new home. It wasn’t the poshest of places, but the house she’d been renting had felt more like a trap than a luxury, so she’d given it up and signed a lease on a one-bedroom flat over a coffee shop in downtown Seattle. It was close to shopping and restaurants and had a tiny balcony from which she could see the blue waters of Puget Sound. 

The building was old, with radiators that pinged and high ceilings. Jemma loved it. She hadn’t met any of the buildings other tenants yet, but the super had said they were quiet and she shouldn’t have any issues. 

Jemma was looking forward to relaxing months of no deadlines, free time to visit museums, and she already had tickets to the ballet and symphony. 

The old building had narrow stairs leading from the ground floor, and her flat was on the second story. Her furniture had been delivered, and she was down to hauling odds and ends out of her car now. Reaching the first landing, she blew her hair out of her eyes, turned to go up the next flight, and promptly caught her toe on the lip of a step. Her stomach lurched as she started to pitch backward. It was really going to hurt when she landed on her back with a box full of papers and books in her arms. There was a rush of feet, and strong hands gripped her forearm and the edge of the box. 

Jemma yipped as she was pulled upright. 

“I got you,” the man said, his voice rough with a Scottish accent. 

“But who has you?” she said weakly, her heart still pounding from her near disaster. 

Her superman was scruffy, with a short, light brown hair and bright blue eyes. He grinned at her terrible joke and Jemma bit her lip, upgrading him from cute to gorgeous. 

For half a second she reminded herself that she was supposed to be taking a break from everything, which should include dating, but her toes curled in her trainers, and she gave up that ridiculous notion immediately. 

“Jemma!” she said, and the man raised a brow. His hands were still on her and the box, the warmth seeping into her. “My name’s Jemma. I’m moving into 3b.” 

“We’ll be neighbors then, I’m 3a.”

“Do you have a name, Mr. 3a?” 

His eyes widened, and his cheeks turned slightly pink. “Please call me Fitz.” 

“Nice to meet you, Fitz. I suppose I should get out of your way.” She tried to step to the side to allow him by, but he tugged on the box instead.

“Let me help. I was just going to check the post. I’ve lived here for a couple of months, but tend to be a homebody and don’t know many people in Seattle yet. I moved here to do some consulting for one of the local tech firms.” 

Jemma let him take the box. “You’re a programmer?” 

He headed back up the stairs. “Engineer. Mostly mechanical but really a bit of everything.” 

She watched his trousers pull tight over his rear as she followed him up the steps. “Do you live with someone?” she asked, wincing at how transparent she was being. 

“It’s just me,” Fitz said, looking briefly over his shoulder at her. “As I said, I haven’t met much of anyone here.” 

He stopped beside her door, and she opened it for him. Inside, he set the books down on her little kitchen table. “Just some light reading?” 

“I’m a biochemist,” Jemma said. “It’s research for a new project.” 

Fitz’s eyes lit up as he skimmed his fingers over the cover of a journal, but then his brow furrowed and he looked at his shoes. It was if he was trying to decide something and was having an internal debate. She crossed her arms and waited. 

Fitz shuffled past her, only to pause in her entryway. He turned around to face her and leaned a shoulder against the door jamb. He must have made a decision. “I don’t suppose you’d want to talk about it? Maybe over coffee? The place downstairs is excellent.” 

Jemma’s heart fluttered. “Yes, that sounds wonderful. I have a few more boxes of knick-knacks, but they can wait. And I can’t believe the name of the coffee shop is The Good Bean.” 

Fitz laughed. “Well it is, good, I mean.” His eyes lingered on her face. “Or at least their tea is. I don’t drink much coffee.” Her estimation of him got another upgrade. 

“Me either. But a cup of tea and discussing a new project? Count me in.” 

Jemma locked her door after they exited, and she followed him downstairs and into the coffee shop, where they ordered their drinks and claimed a tiny table in the corner. 

“I’m not great at small talk,” Fitz said. “I do better with machines than people.” 

Jemma inhaled the warm coffee scent of the place. “I know what you mean. But if I mention dielectric polarization are you lost?” 

Fitz chuckled, his eyes darting every so subtly down towards her chest and back up as she took  a deep breath. “Not so much, I’m good with electrical fields and their behavior.” 

Their tea arrived, and Jemma smiled at him over the rim of her mug. It was June first, but it felt like a whole new year was starting for her. “I think I’m going to be very glad I met you, Fitz.” 

****

_ Six Months Later _

Fitz narrowed his gaze at the lasagna baking in his oven. It was the vegetable kind, which he’d bought premade because otherwise who knew what he’d end up serving Jemma if he tried to make it from scratch. 

His mum would laugh like a lunatic if she could see her son in off the rack clothes frantically trying to cook dinner for his girlfriend. 

It’d been most of a year since he’d spoken to her, and with the holidays coming, he felt the distance between him and home acutely. Not that he minded being excused from the endless rounds of duties a prince was usually subjected to in December, but he was homesick for meat pies and the cheery decorations that would be lining the cobblestone streets of his nation’s capital. 

The Isle of Alba, sitting in the North Sea, couldn’t boast about having great weather, but it did have wonderful Christmas-tide celebrations. He didn’t know when he’d see his home again. The nation was the size of New England state, but it was rich in natural resources, and its high, rocky coastline meant that invaders, from Romans, to Vikings, to the bloody English, had been easy to repel over the centuries. 

His family had been the rulers for ten generations. They had amassed a great deal of wealth in that time. Obscene amounts. Which is most likely what had lead to a botched kidnapping that had almost become an assassination attempt. His parents had sent him into hiding for his own safety. He’d ended up in a flat in Seattle, and he did do occasional consulting work under an assumed name, but Jemma had been a surprise. 

Since the first time he’d looked into her luminous brown eyes, he’d been smitten. Hunter, the head of his security, had been dead set against any personal entanglements, but even he had relented when he’d seen just how in love Fitz was with Jemma. 

He hated keeping secrets from her, but his life, and maybe hers, depended on it. She called him Fitz and knew him as engineer Leo Fitz, not Leopold James Fitz Radcliff, Duke of Moray, and the heir apparent to the throne of Alba. So far nobody had recognized him with his shorter hair and beard. Jemma certainly had no clue he was who the media had dubbed “The Missing Prince”. He’d like it to stay that way. 

There was a knock at the door before Jemma let herself in. He met her in the hallway, grabbing her hip and kissing her while she curled her fingers into his jumper and pulled him close. Her mouth tasted of gingerbread. 

“Did you eat a biscuit?” he teased, breaking the kiss before they got carried away and dinner burned. It wouldn’t have been the first time. He’d never imagined loving someone could be so intense. Or that it could overwhelm you so completely. 

“Guilty.” She bent over to grab one of the grocery bags on the floor, and he was chuffed she’d wanted a bit of a snog before unpacking what she’d bought. “You know the gingerbread men from Trader Joe’s are my weakness.” 

Jemma was his weakness. 

They carried the bags to the counter and Jemma began pulling groceries out, including a six-pack of his favorite beer.

“How’d the meeting go?” he asked. Jemma had driven up to her employer’s headquarters to request money and access to a lab. 

Jemma pushed her hair off her forehead. “Okay, I think. I secured the funding for the prototype, so we’re making a night-night gun. And I got permission to synthesize the dendrotoxin in a satellite facility here.” 

“That’s wonderful.” He glanced at her. She didn’t look thrilled. “Is something wrong?” 

“I have to start this weekend.” 

“Ah, that’s alright. We can drive up to play in the snow some other time.” 

Jemma sighed. His salad bowl clanked on the counter as she set it down hard. “I don’t like this, being forced into a schedule. I’m too used to setting my own, and I wanted to go sledding with you.” 

Her back hunched as she mixed the salad. Fitz stepped behind her and put his arms around her. “We’ll go soon. Don’t stress. I completely understand schedules being beyond your control.” He really did. His time in Alba had been very regimented. Being here, being on his own, had taught him a lot about himself. Especially that laundry was more complicated than it looked. 

He snuggled against her back. 

Hunter said Fitz needed to talk to his parents first—when it was safe to do so—before making a decision, but Fitz was thinking of abdicating. That’d mean his cousin Deke would take Fitz’s place as the heir, which might be alright. Hopefully, Deke would marry someone sensible. 

Fitz wanted his life here with Jemma to be real, though he wouldn’t mind having enough money to be able to spoil her. Most days he didn’t mind living simply and didn’t care about not having a stable of high-end cars at his disposal, or a private jet to whisk him somewhere warm. Gold plated toilets were cold to sit on. (He could thank his great-grandmother for that palace addition). 

However, there were times he missed having access to luxury. When his feet were freezing, and the radiator in his flat was making more noise than heat. Or when Jemma got excited over a six dollar bottle of wine. He knew if she liked that, then she’d adore the six-thousand dollar bottle he was thinking of. 

He wouldn’t mind draping her in nothing but pearls. 

Fitz kissed the back of her neck. “Do you think we’ve got the firing mechanism right?” 

“I don’t think we’ll know until we fire it. The cartridges should hold up to the force. Or we’ll make a fine blue dendrotoxin mist that leaves us fast asleep.” It was an impressive formula Jemma had come up with. One that would drop a person instantly, but not cut out their respiratory drive. It was pure genius, and he was hoping his design on the gun itself would live up to it. “But enough work talk. Let’s have dinner.” 

****

Jemma flopped back on the couch. The dishwasher was humming, and Fitz was taking the garbage out. She had a beer on the coffee table for him to sip while watching the local evening news, but she’d opted for water. He returned, slamming the door behind him and rushing to sit beside her. 

“It’s bloody freezing out there,” he said, grabbing her and pulling her onto his lap. He buried his face against her neck, and she yipped at the feel of his cold nose. 

“Poor Fitz,” she said, stroking his back. His arms wrapped around her and he sighed with contentment. Jemma didn’t mind warming up her boyfriend in the least. 

The clock on the wall chimed the hour, and she disentangled herself to hand Fitz his beer and flick on the telly. 

There were the usual segments about car accidents and local politics. They laughed at a feel-good story involving llamas and Christmas wreaths. The last story was about the Christmas decorations being put up on the Isle of Alba, which were world renowned. 

Fitz was watching with his beer bottle halfway to his lips. 

“Have you been?” she asked. 

“Yeah, few times.” 

“I went one summer with my parents when I was seven. I remember it being a very pretty country, with lots of mountains and sheep, along with the clearest blue lakes I’ve ever seen.” 

Fitz nodded. “It’s beautiful.” 

The news story ended with a mention of the missing prince, including a photo of a clean-shaven and solemn young man. There was something vaguely familiar about him. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I’ve seen him.” 

“You have?” Fitz said, sounding startled. 

“When I was seven, there was a motorcade, and he was with his parents in the back of an open-top car. He looked sad, but his mum said something to him, and he plastered on a smile and started waving. I can remember feeling bad for him and thinking that his life must be very difficult. I fancied making a plan to sneak him out of the palace and show him all my favorite games so that he wouldn’t be so sad anymore.” 

Fitz’s mouth was hanging open, and she giggled and poked his chest. “Can you imagine plain ole me running away with the Prince of Alba?” 

“Nothing plain about you,” Fitz murmured. 

She snorted. “I’d make a terrible queen.” 

“I think you would be marvelous. Everyone loves you. Even Hunter.”  

She rolled her eyes at the mention of Fitz’s friend. “Hunter tolerates me, mostly because I’m friends with Bobbi.” 

Earlier that year, Bobbi had driven down from Bellevue on other business and dropped in to see Jemma’s new flat and meet her boyfriend. Bobbi was head of building security where Jemma had worked. They didn’t seem to have much in common at first glance, but they’d taken lunch in the company café at the same time and had started chatting and ended up fast friends. Hunter had been hanging out with Fitz the day Bobbi had stopped by, and his jaw had hit the ground. 

“Speaking of Bobbi, Hunter was asking me just today if she was coming to visit this month. Maybe for a Holiday party?”

“He’s impossible.” 

“That wasn’t an answer.” 

“It’d be worse, but Bobbi keeps asking about him, too. So tell him yes, we’ll buy cocoa from The Good Bean and have a few friends over for a while elephant gift exchange.” 

“Sounds good. I’m not actually going to end up with a while elephant, am I?”

Jemma laughed and set her water on the coffee table. Fitz did the same with his beer. 

“One year I got a mug in the shape of a turtle,” she said. “I still have it, if you want to see.” 

“Not at the moment.” His hand trailed down her side. “I have other things I want to do right now that don’t involve turtle mugs.” 

Jemma leaned in to kiss him. Fitz made her feel like royalty with the way he made love to her. He cupped the back of her head with a hand, his lips gliding against hers. “I love you, Jems.” 

“I love you too.” 

It still sometimes surprised her just how much he meant to her. A day wasn’t complete without him in it, and there hadn’t been one since the very first afternoon they’d met. He was her friend, the only person she’d ever met that could keep up with her thinking, and he could knock her socks off. 

She cupped Fitz’s face and kissed him harder, pressing her tongue into his mouth. There was an eighty-five percent chance, according to Jemma’s calculations, that he would ask her to marry him on Christmas. There’d been a few things she’d noticed over the last month, times when he was a little secretive, that had made her start to wonder. 

If he didn’t do it, then she was. She suspected she had a very good reason to.

Jemma wouldn’t recognize her life anymore without Fitz being in it. This year, they were going to have a very merry Christmas. 

 


	2. Something Old

Lifting the lid of the crockpot, Fitz inhaled the savory scent of the cooking potato soup. Jemma was going to be starving when she got home, and he couldn’t wait to see her face when she smelled what he’d made her.

The oven was warming, and Fitz had a baguette sliced and garlic butter ready to go, along with a salad in the fridge. The flat was warm and decorated for Christmas with strings of lights and greenery. He might not be able to return home, but he’d brought a little of his home to his place for Jemma, even if she didn’t know it.

There were only two weeks to Christmas Eve. He had a tree, trimmed in red and green with twinkling lights, that sat in front of one of the flat’s big windows. There was already an assortment of gifts for Jemma under it, including a small box with a diamond ring. He was going to insist on speaking to his father in a few days to officially give up his claim to the throne. He was hoping they’d send him a bit of a parting gift, enough cash to buy a house for him and Jemma. Even better would be if they handed over the accounts in his name. But the most important part was renouncing his title.

Then he could just be Leo Fitz without the ax hanging over his head of being responsible for the wellbeing of an entire country.

Fitz rubbed at his temple. Soon, he needed to tell Jemma the truth, maybe after she’d agreed to marry him.

His mobile rang, and his heart dropped thinking it was Jemma saying she was going to be late, but it was only Hunter.

“Hey,” Fitz said, putting the call on speaker.

“How’s it hanging?”

“Making dinner. Jems should be here soon.”

“You have confirmed that Bobbi’s going to be there next Saturday?”

Fitz rolled his eyes. “For the millionth time, yes. You really need to shag her and stop this song and dance.”

Hunter laughed. “Right. I’ll tell her you said that.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“Better than whatever you're having,” Fitz said. How Hunter subsisted on takeout and coffee, Fitz had no idea. He picked up his tea from The Good Bean and sipped the dregs.

There was a loud sigh from his mobile. “Give a bloke a break. Not all of us are meant to be chefs.”

“It’s crockpot potato soup, salad, and garlic bread. Smells amazing.”

Hunter made a sad sound. “Is there going to be any leftovers?”

“The soup for sure. The recipe was enough to feed an army. Stop by later for a bowl.”

“Ta.”

Fitz looked at the phone. “Hey, Hunter, I’m going to ask Jemma to marry me.”

“That’s not surprising, but don’t forget there’s the whole needing to do it publicly before the court clause.”

Fitz pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m planning to renounce. Everything. Deke can bloody have the throne. I want this life.”

There was silence. “Fitz…I know how you feel about her. And I know you’ve not been thrilled with the responsibility that’s been part of your life since before you could walk, but the Isle, it’s going to need you. This world is only getting more difficult to live in. I’m not sure putting the fate of your citizens in your cousin’s hands is a great idea.”

“There're advisors. He’ll be fine.”

“I watched him eat ice cream out of the garbage once.”

Fitz groaned. He grabbed a knife and went to work on slicing the bread.

“Your parents aren’t going to be around forever, Fitz. I know it feels like they are, but you have to think past that. Your country needs you.”

He dropped the knife into the sink and started swiping the butter on the slices. His jaw was clenched. “Thank you for the guilt trip, but the Isle will go on just fine without me.”

“Don’t you want your children to know where they came from?”

“I’ll buy them bloody Alba cheese at the grocers.”

Hunter sighed again. “I had to try. But if Jemma and hiding away in the States is what you want, then I won’t stop you. I’m thinking I could move here permanently too.”

“I’d like that.”

“Yeah,” Hunger said. “It’d be nice not to be looking after your royal arse for once.”

Fitz chuckled. “It won’t be royal in a week. Then you’ll just be staring at my arse. Might have to fight Jemma for it.”

“She’d win.”

“Yes, she would. I’ll see you in a bit for soup.”

“I’ll be there.”

The phone beeped as the call ended. Fitz turned the radio back up, humming along with the Christmas song playing.

He was arranging the garlic bread on a baking sheet when the door opened and closed.

“In the kitchen, Jemma,” he called, barely able to wait to see her. She’d been in the lab working on the dendrotoxin a lot the last two weeks, and he was missing her. The gun itself was basically ready, and he was excited to move to the next phase of testing.

Wiping his hands on a cheery red towel, he turned to greet her.

It wasn’t Jemma.

Fitz was looking at the business end of a pistol and the face of a man he’d seen before.

“Seems I found the little lost prince,” the man drawled. Ice shot down Fitz’s spine. This man had almost killed him once already and was the reason Fitz had been sent into hiding in the first place.

“Ward,” he said evenly.

****

Jemma was ecstatic as she drove home. Everything was coming together perfectly with the night-night gun.

She should have known her furlough would be good for her and her work. No day-to-day BS, and her company was already getting excited about the practical applications of what she and Fitz were creating. She hoped that Fitz would be hired on as well, and the two of them could be their own tiny R&D division.

It wasn’t the high-powered career she’d once imagined, but her priorities had shifted even before she’d met Fitz. And now that they were together, all she wanted was holidays at home with her family. She felt the familiar pang at the thought of family. Her parents would have loved Fitz.  

She really needed to tell Fitz that the pregnancy test had been positive. They weren’t nearly as careful as they should have been about some things, but Jemma was certain he’d be as happy about it as she was. It was fourteen days to Christmas. She expected a ring, and her return gift would be that they were going to be a family of three next year.

All the lights decorating the houses she passed looked much cheerier to her than they ever had before.

Jemma’s stomach growled as she pulled her car into the lot behind her flat. She looped a scarf around her neck and put her hat on before getting out. The winter weather was chilly, and the breeze off the water only made it worse. Hopefully, Fitz had something ready for dinner. She removed the case for the completed night-night gun prototype from the backseat. Fitz was going to be so surprised it was finished.  

Locking the car, she trotted to the door of the building, let herself in, paused for a moment to inhale the delicious scent wafting from The Good Bean, and hurried up the stairs.

Jemma opened her door, hung up her coat and scarf up and removed the gun from its case. She held the prototype behind her back and headed over to Fitz’s flat. Christmas music was audible through the door and she smiled. The way Fitz threw himself into the holidays thrilled her, partly because she had usually been too busy to celebrate much before, but mostly because she knew that he’d always make Christmas special for his family.

Jemma was so in love she was overflowing with it.

Entering his flat, she called out, “Honey, I’m home.” Her stomach rumbled at the rich scent of whatever was for dinner. “It smells great in here. What are we having?”

She turned the corner into the kitchen and froze.

Fitz was on his knees, his hands up and behind his head. A tall, dark-haired man had a gun to his temple. Fitz’s eyes were panicked. His lips moved. I love you, he mouthed, then yelled, “Get out, Jems, go.”

She screamed and staggered back, her hand still behind her. She was holding the prototype. She lowered it, pressing it tight against her leg. Her heart was in her throat.

The man with the gun grabbed Fitz by the collar of his cardigan, which she inanely recognized as the one she’d bought him because she’d liked the reindeer on it. The gun that’d been aimed at Fitz rose to point at her.

“She’s no one, Ward,” Fitz said. “It’s me you're after.”

“Don’t know,” the man—Ward—said. “Your parents pay for you, and you pay for her. Because I’m guessing the princeling has gone and fallen in love.”

“What’s going on?” Jemma said. Her stomach was in knots. Who would want to hurt her or Fitz?

Ward barked with laughter. “She doesn’t even know, does she? Some sweet little idiot with doe eyes you think you’re in love with. What do you think she’s going to do when she finds out that you could buy most of this town and still have money left over to wipe your ass with?”

Jemma locked eyes with Fitz. She didn’t understand what Ward was saying. “I think you’ve mistaken us for someone else.” She tried to sound calm. Thankfully, Ward seemed too busy gloating to notice she was holding something. The night-night gun might be an untested prototype, but it was loaded, and she trusted Fitz’s design to work. And in her chemistry skills.

“Nah, I’ve been tracking this royal waste of space for months. You’re a hard man to find, Leopold.” Ward smirked. “But you did pick a pretty girl. Maybe I’ll try her out while I’m waiting for you to decide if she’s worth the price I’ll ask.”

Fitz grimaced. “You’ll not touch her, you bloody bastard.” He started to stand. Ward swung his gun back to Fitz again.

“Not so fast,” Ward said.

He’d taken his eyes off Jemma. She raised the prototype and fired. Ward looked surprised, but then crashed to the floor.

Oh good, it worked. Her hand shook, and she dropped the gun.

Fitz was across the room with his arms around her in the next second.

She was sobbing. When had that started? “I was going to surprise you with the prototype,” she said into his chest. “It’s all done. No more lab until after Christmas.” She clung to Fitz.

The door burst open, and Hunter entered, a rifle in his hand and dressed in black gear. There were other men with him.

“Car just took off from the corner,” one of the men said. “We’re in pursuit. We don’t know if there’s anyone else.”

“Get the prince out of here, take him to the backup location now.”

“No!” she yelled as Fitz was pulled to his feet.

“I’ll deal with her,” Hunter said.

Fitz was struggling. “Jemma!”

Hunter put a hand on Fitz’s back. “I’ll take care of her, but you have to let us do our jobs. Now go.”

Fitz’s shoulder’s slumped. “I’ll see you soon, Jemma. Don’t worry. It’ll make sense. I promise. I love you.” The last was shouted as he was hurried away. Jemma felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“Nice shooting, Tex,” Hunter said, offering a hand. She ignored him and shakily pulled out her mobile. “We already called the police.” Hunter glanced at where several men were surrounding Ward.

“Not calling the police,” she replied, her voice tiny. Jemma typed in a number and turned toward the Christmas tree. Its lights were off, the cord looking like it’s been tripped over. Jemma wiped at the tears on her cheeks.

“Hello? Jemma?” Bobbi answered on the third ring.

“Hi,” Jemma said, sniffing.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I don’t even know. There was a man, and a gun, and now Fitz is gone.”

Bobbi inhaled sharply. “What?”

“I think he’s safe. I shot the bad guy with the prototype. I need…can you come?”

“I’m on my way.”

****

Fitz was pacing back and forth in front of the enormous glass window in the penthouse of whatever downtown hotel he was at. The name escaped him.

He was high up, and the city lights were like a constellation of stars at his feet.

Fitz didn’t bloody well care.

He needed to see Jemma. Why wasn’t she here? Where was Hunter? He doubted any of the members of Hunter’s team, who were scattered around the lavish living room, would tell him.

This was not what he’d wanted. He’d wished for quiet and a little life with someone he loved. Now that was all in the rubbish bin. The ruddy media knew he was here, and news vans lined the street outside the hotel.

His mobile rang, and he answered.

“Please hold for King Radcliffe of the Isle of Alba,” said a perfunctory voice. It was about bloody time. Fitz had been waiting for hours to hear either from his father or Jemma. He would have preferred Jemma.

The line clicked over. “Hello, son,” said his father.

Fitz sighed. “Hello, good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too. We’ve missed you. We’ll get you on the first plane home that we can.”

“I don’t want to come home. I am home.”

The king sighed. “What’s her name?”

“None of your business. Just tell me you have a bead on these wankers?” Fitz’s free hand clenched into a fist. They’d torn his life apart twice now. Enough was enough.

“We got them. The one at your flat, the one in the car they were planning to throw you into the trunk of, and those two had plenty links back to the ringleader. Security is tracking him down. Coulson and May are hunting the git. Now tell me about this girl.”

“I’m going to marry her.”

“That doesn’t tell me much.”

“She perfect. She’s like me. Two PhDs by the time she was sixteen. I’ve never met anyone I can talk to like her. She’s warm and funny and beautiful. Works hard, even when she’s not supposed to. Wants to make the world a better place.”

“Excellent. Sounds like she’ll be a fine queen.”

“What, no, we’re…” He trailed off and leaned his forehead against the cold glass of the window. “I was going to renounce.”

“Nonsense. Bring her here. We can do an official engagement ceremony at the Christmas Eve ball if you’re dead set that this girl is the one. That part is non-negotiable, but you know we don’t have the same nose in the air reaction to commoners marrying into the family that some royals do. Why your three times great-grandfather was a—”

“Terrific, but I have no idea if she’s going to want that kind of life.” Fitz pulled at a piece of fuzz on the thirteen-hundred-dollar cashmere sweater he was wearing. The woman who’d handed it to him had apologized it wasn’t better quality. He wanted his cardigan Jemma had given him back, but right now it was being examined by security for whatever idiotic reason they’d come up with that he hadn’t listened to.

“Why don’t you try asking her?” his father said kindly. “At least bring her for Christmas. There’s nothing much that an Isle of Alba Christmas can’t fix.”

There was a noise at the main door of the penthouse and Hunter came in, followed by Bobbi, who was wide-eyed, and a very pale Jemma.

Fitz dropped his mobile onto the carpet and rushed across the room.

“Fitz,” she whispered. He pulled her into a hug, and she clung to him.

“Let’s go check out the kitchen,” Hunter said to Bobbi, then spoke up. “Alright, everyone out. Let’s give them some room.” The team quickly packed up and filed out.

Fitz smiled gratefully at Hunter, who’d taken Bobbi’s hand. “Does this place have a hot tub?” she asked as Hunter pulled her away.

Hunter beamed. “It has its own swimming pool if you want to take a dip.”

Once the door closed behind then, Fitz unwrapped himself enough from Jemma that he could cup her face in his palms. She appeared almost dazed, and her eyes kept darting around the opulent room.

He started to lean forward to kiss her, wanting to forget everything else, but she turned away. “What’s going on, Fitz?” she said, voice firm. She pushed a step back from him, and his arms fell uselessly to his sides.

“Did you have something to eat?” he stalled. “They got anything you can imagine here.”

“I wanted crockpot potato soup.”

He sighed and hung his head. “What did Hunter tell you?”

“Not a lot, mostly that ‘the prince will explain’. By which I assume he means you. And downstairs is a zoo. There’re more television stations than I knew existed here. Who are you?”

“Leo Fitz.” He didn’t look up.

“Who else?”

“That’s the only person I want to be.” He had no idea if she believed him.

“I don’t think you have a choice now. So I’ll ask again, and I think I deserve an answer. Who are you?”

He put his hands on his hips as he studied the carpet. “I’m…I’m Leopold James Fitz Radcliff, Duke of Moray, and Prince of the Isle of Alba.” He finally raised his gaze to her face.

Jemma forehead creased, but then she started laughing. She clapped a hand over her mouth like she could contain the giggles. “You are not.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“No. You can’t—I told you the story! I was going to run away with you, not the other way around.” Her eyes were bright as she continued to laugh.

The corner of his lips ticked upwards. “Would have done it sooner, if I’d known you were waiting for me.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What happens now?”

“Well—” Fitz rubbed the back of his neck. “I still want…” He broke off and sighed. “Look, this is complicated, and not how I wanted to do this, but—” The blasted ring was still under the tree, and things were all horribly wonky, but he was not giving up the light of his life. He dropped to one knee and took her hand. Jemma covered her mouth again, this time in shock. “Jemma Simmons, I’ve never been happier than these months with you. I was going to do this Christmas Eve, but things got away from me…us. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

“Fitz—” she breathed.

“I was planning on renouncing everything. I’m still the same man. Bloody expensive sweaters that aren’t warm enough and posh hotel rooms don’t mean anything. I love you.”

Her hand left her mouth, and she was smiling ruefully. “I know you’re still you, Fitz. But I am rather impressed I’ve been yelling at a prince to carry out my trash. Not a lot of women can say that. But I don’t think you should give up your life for me.”

“You are my life.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Oh, Fitz.”

“Look, I have to ask you again before the royal court for it to be legal, and I’ll have a ring that time, I swear. I have one now. It’s just not here.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I want to spend every day side by side with you. At least come to the Isle for Christmas. You can see how it is, and if you want, I’ll formally renounce in front of the entire damn country.”

To his surprise, she knelt as well, on both knees, facing him. “I don’t know how to say yes to a prince.”

Fitz’s heart sank like a stone. He was going to lose her. “Jems—”

“But I love a brilliant, caring man named Leo Fitz with all my heart. And I would very much like for you to be my husband. Will you marry me?” She grinned. “I don’t have to ask in front of anyone.”

Fitz put a hand on her cheek. “Absolutely.” This time when he leaned in for a kiss, she met him halfway, her lips soft against his. He put an arm around her, meaning to pull her closer, but her stomach growled loudly.

“Sorry,” Jemma said with a laugh. “I didn’t have any dinner.”

“Me either. But I’m serious, this place has everything. And if they don’t, they can get it.” Fitz stood and helped Jemma up.

“Maybe a salad. With shrimp. And a steak.”

Fitz raised a brow. “They can bring the whole cow if you want.”

“I’m suddenly a little miffed over all the times I insisted I pay for dinner.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Steak and salad, please, and then I should get going.”

Fitz had been searching for the room phone but whipped around to face her. “Going?”

“Yes, I know you probably have to go home right away now, but I need to have a few things in order first before jetting to a different country.”

“It might not be safe!” He wanted to keep her in arms reach if possible, the other side of the world was impossible.

“I’ll stay with Bobbi, close up our flats, and be in Alba a few days before Christmas. Can you find me a hotel there? It’s probably hard to book a room this late in the season.”

Fitz blinked. “You’ll stay at the palace. But—”

“Give me a while to wrap my head around this and get my life in order. I’ll be there, I promise.”

He made a few abstract movements with his hands in the air. “Okay, but you’ll have security. No protests, I need to know you’re safe. And Bobbi can come with you to the Isle, if you want, so you’ll at least know someone besides me.”

“That sounds good. She’ll be thrilled.”

“And Jemma, please, stay here tonight with me. Go in the morning but give us tonight. Please.” 

Her face softened. “I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not.” Fitz relaxed, sighing in relief. “I haven’t slept alone since four days after I met you,” she said. “This is going to be terrible for me too, but I need to get things straight here, okay?”

“I understand.” He didn’t, really, but she deserved time to think.

Jemma glanced at the kitchen door. “I’m probably not getting Bobbi out of the hot tub, anyway.”

Fitz held out his hand. “Food and bed. In that order.”

“We could eat in bed and watch terrible television.”

He put an arm around her. “You are smart.”

Jemma smiled. “I know.”


	3. Something Christmas

The flights, from Seattle to Dulles and then onto Glasgow, had been packed. The one from Glasgow to the Isle of Alba was just as bad, but everyone seemed cheerier. It was a few days until Christmas, and most of the passengers were either headed home or on holiday. Wrapped presents were crowding the overhead bins and poking out of carryon bags.

Jemma was sitting squished in a window seat of the small plane. Below her, clouds raced over the blue-grey water of the North Sea. She hadn’t been able to sleep the entire way, too excited and nervous about seeing Fitz again.

Bobbi was a lot more relaxed and had nodded off about thirty minutes out of Dulles and not awoken until they were descending into Scotland. She was awake now, drumming her fingers on her thigh. Hunter was on a later flight, and Jemma was sure Bobbi already missed him. They’d been inseparable since Jemma had found out Fitz…wasn’t just her Fitz.

“You’re frowning,” Bobbi said. Jemma sighed. “It’s okay to be mad at him. I don’t know why you even agreed to see him ever again. That was a really stupid secret for him to keep.”

“It’s complicated,” Jemma replied, eyeing the other passengers. Nobody knew who she was, yet. Jemma and Bobbi had watched a few days ago as Fitz had held a press conference—Jemma wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about having a fiancé that held press conferences—and spoke briefly and apologized for having to hide for most of the last year. Then he’d officially stated he would be ‘making an announcement’ on Christmas Eve. Alba’s media had known what that was code for and shouted questions, but Fitz had only smiled and walked away. He’d no sooner disappeared off stage than her phone had pinged with a text from him asked if she’d seen.

Jemma had laughed because he was still the same Fitz.

The speculation about who the mystery girl could be had set the media on fire and mostly focused on Hollywood since apparently princes were supposed to marry movie stars if they didn’t marry other royals. That part made Jemma feel weird. Hearing other passengers on the plane speculating about it was even weirder.

Bobbi leaned close to Jemma and spoke in a low voice. “I’m serious. You can be mad.”

“I am mad,” Jemma whispered back. “Mostly that he kept a secret from me. I understand why, but I’m still mad. Only, as I said, it’s complicated.”

Bobbi huffed. “Okay, tell me why it’s so complicated. Because of the money? He might be a liar, but he can buy you a mink coat. Or a bunch of minks.”

“No! For crying out loud, Bobbi, do you truly believe that’s what I’m worried about?” Jemma was very disappointed in her friend, who was giving her a sly look. “You’ve been spending too much time with Hunter,” Jemma grumbled.

“Then prove me wrong.” Bobbi flicked the ends of her hair over her shoulder and shrugged.

Jemma lowered her voice further though it appeared no one was paying any attention to them. “No repeating this.” Bobbi nodded. “I’m…I’m pregnant.”

Bobbi’s eyes got wide. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah.”

“You haven’t been drinking enough water.”

“What?”

The flight attendant light dinged as Bobbi pressed it.

The attendant bustled down the aisle. “Can I help you?”

“Bottle of water for my friend, she needs to stay hydrated,” Bobbi said. The attendant returned a moment later and held a bottle out to Jemma.

“Thank you.” Jemma opened it and took a drink. Bobbi was right, she should be paying more attention to things like that.

“And here I thought all the crying was because you were upset,” Bobbi muttered. “When it was hormones.”

Jemma snorted. “You’re a good friend.”

“I might cut off his balls for not taking better care of you when...” she gestured towards Jemma’s middle.

“He doesn’t know.”

Bobbi’s mouth fell open. “Oh my god. You’re just as bad as he is. Jemma!”

“It’s a surprise, for Christmas.”

Bobbi dropped her face into her hands. “Just drink your water.”

The flight wasn’t long. When they disembarked, Jemma’s gut twisted, and she stopped walking.

“You okay?” Bobbi asked, grabbing her arm.                                              

Jemma’s eyes swept around the airport. It was decked with lights and garlands, the air smelled like cinnamon, and a string quartet played carols in one corner of the arrival lounge. The surrounding voices sounded like Fitz’s, and it was odd to think this might be where she’d live from now on. Nausea crept up her throat.

“This is a bit much,” she said.

“Yeah,” Bobbi agreed. She led Jemma to the baggage claim where an older man in a cap and coat was holding a sign that read ‘Simmons’. Jemma and Bobbi’s luggage was already sitting beside him.

“That’s us!” Jemma chirped, and the man nodded smartly and led them to a dark grey and expensive looking car. He settled them into the back and put their luggage into the boot before getting into the drivers’ side, which Jemma was pleased to see was on the right-hand side. She’d gotten rather tired of having to think so hard about which side of the road she was on in the States.

“Did you ladies have a nice trip?” he asked politely.

“It wasn’t too bad,” Bobbi said before turning to Jemma. “I did think our welcome would be a little different.”

Jemma had thought so too. “I sent the flight information,” she said in a low voice. There hadn’t been a lot of time during or between flights to text Fitz. They messaged each other frequently, but with Christmas getting closer he’d said his schedule was becoming more packed and it was harder for him to get his mobile out until after dinner.

“Ah, don’t worry. This time of year, there are a lot of royal guests. You’ll see everyone at the ball on Christmas Eve.”

Ball? Bobbi mouthed and Jemma shrugged. She was still trying to process being lumped in with all the other royal guests. She’d been expecting to be pulled aside at the airport and to be brought to see Fitz immediately. It’d seemed like ages since they’d been together. Instead, she was being shunted off with all the other holiday tourists.

Bobbi patted her arm.

Jemma shoved down her feeling of being slighted and stared out the window at the beautifully decorated streets and lovely houses and shops covered with a dusting of snow. It was lovely and festive, and Jemma hated that it wasn’t Fitz that was showing her everything.

The car turned a corner, and Bobbi gasped. Jemma looked through the windscreen. Her jaw dropped. They were driving down a wide, tree-lined avenue, the bare branches decorated in bright fairy lights, and at the end was what could only be the royal palace. It was huge, with more windows than Jemma could count, and an edifice the muted white color of marble.

“Damn,” Bobbi said.

Jemma couldn’t even speak. It was all outlined in tasteful small lights, and red bows hung on the sashes.

The car pulled around to a side gate, and a guard checked the driver's badge and Jemma and Bobbi’s passports before waving them through. They stopped at an unmarked door, and the driver retrieved their luggage as Bobbi and Jemma stood and gaped in the fresh, cold air. Snowflakes drifted down from the overcast sky.

A fierce looking woman with her grey hair in a bun ushered them inside after they thanked the driver, and a porter in a blue uniform brought their bags.

“I’ve assigned you a double room,” she sniffed. “Space is at a premium during the holidays so you’ll have to share.” Jemma pasted on a smile and followed the woman through a series of long hallways. “This is room 515.” The woman pointed to a number on the door. “Remember it in case you get lost and need to ask for help. You are in the south wing. You are allowed anywhere in it, and if you need transportation or anything else, the concierge is just down the hallway and to the right.”

“Thank you,” Bobbi said as the porter opened the door and piled their luggage in the middle of the room. The woman and porter left, and Jemma sat on the side of one of the beds. “Where’s your prince?”

“No idea,” Jemma said. “I thought…I don’t know. That I’d be different from other guests.” She sighed.

“I was thinking there’d be whatever the Christmas version of two lovers running to be reunited in a flowery field is. Not a hotel room and a brush off.”

“Yeah, well, me too.”

“I’m going to pee.” Bobbi marched into the loo but immediately bounded back out. “Jemma! You have to come see this!”

Jemma stood and followed Bobbi into the restroom. Bobbi was cackling and pointing at the toilet. “The seat’s gold.”

“I read something about that, but the reality is a lot posher than I was expecting.” She took a pic with her mobile and sent it to Fitz, along with the caption ‘Even for guests?’ Her phone rang a half-second later. “Hello?”

“Jemma! You’re here?” It was Fitz. There were noises in the background she couldn’t identify.

“Yeah, I emailed you the flight itinerary.”

“I never…bloody hell. Fuck!” The last was yelled. “Where are you?”

“South wing, I believe. Room 515.”

“What the fuck are you doing there?”

Jemma was getting annoyed. “I don’t know! I was expecting you, and instead, I got a nice gentleman who called me a holiday guest and a curt woman who said she hoped I didn’t mind sharing with Bobbi because space is at a premium.” Jemma sniffed. Damn it, she was going to cry.

“Fuck!”

The line went dead, and Jemma angrily shoved the mobile in her jacket pocket as she stumbled back to the main part of the room to look for a tissue. She sank down on the edge of the mattress. Bobbi came to sit beside her and put an arm around her. At least Bobbi didn’t try to say anything as Jemma fought her tears. She should have known that just plain Jemma Simmons wouldn’t fit in with royalty. What had she been thinking?

Maybe she could ask for child support?

There was yelling in the hallway, and the door was yanked open by an irate and red-faced Fitz. “I don’t want bloody excuses!” he shouted at the brisk woman from earlier, who was wringing her hands. Jemma shot to her feet. She’d never seen Fitz this angry. “I want to know how this fucking happened!” he roared at the woman. “And I want it fixed now!”

Jemma was drinking him in. His hair and beard looked much neater than it usually did, and he was dressed impeccably in a grey suit. He stormed into the room, and his face became anguished. He rushed her, wrapping her up in his arms and Bobbi sprang out of the way as Jemma and Fitz tumbled onto the bed.

“I missed you,” he said, covering Jemma’s cheeks with kisses. “I’m so sorry. There was some confusion with the emails, and I was starting to think you weren’t coming and here you are and I’m so very sorry.” His lips met hers, and everything else fell away.

****

_Three Days Later, Christmas Eve_

Fitz was pacing again.

It was nearly time for him and Jemma to make their entrance at the ball. It’d started an hour ago, and he could faintly hear the orchestra playing Winter Wonderland.

After the rooms had been sorted, and he’d scandalized everyone by insisting Jemma stay with him, Bobbi had been ended up in Hunter's apartment. They were both very pleased about it, which Fitz had heard far too much about because Hunter would not shut up about Bobbi and was diligently trying to recruit her to work as part of the royal security force. Tonight, though, Hunter was off duty and escorting Bobbi to the ball. Fitz had insisted.

Now if only Jemma would appear. How long did it take to get ready? He was in a smart black tux with a dark red vest that the wardrobe people had argued him into. And they’d refused to let him wear his reindeer cardigan, so he’d had Hunter stash it somewhere convenient for when he gave Jemma her actual Christmas present.

Fitz checked for the millionth time that the ring, the not too flashy one he’d bought in Seattle, was safely tucked in his pocket for when he made his official proposal to Jemma.

If she was still willing to have him. Fitz causing a ruckus in the guest wing had resulted in phone cameras coming out, and now everyone on the Isle and around the globe knew who she was. The general consensus was that she was a very nice girl, a good match for him, along with a smattering of tutting over the fact she was English.

Jemma seemed a little flustered over being “the brainy chit who nabbed a prince”.

Fitz was just glad to have her here with him. He’d taken her out sightseeing and bought her Alba tea, though he did miss The Good Bean. Enough that he’d emailed the owners that morning and asked if they would consider opening a second store on the Isle. Fitz knew the perfect spot.

There was the sound of feet on the stairs, and he glanced up, only to be stopped in his tracks.

Jemma looked amazing. Her dress was the same rich red as his vest, but the gown left her creamy shoulders bare and hugged her torso to flaring out into a velvet skirt. Her dark hair was curled and gathered so it tumbled over her shoulder. But it was her smile that caught him. She was grinning, and her entire face seemed to glow.

She descended the stairs and stopped in front of him. “I love you,” he said.

Jemma laughed, then did a twirl. “And I love you. But this dress is ridiculous. There are garnets along the hems. And I think my shoes cost more than some cars.”

He touched her cheek lightly. “You’re gorgeous.”

“I’m not sure I’m awake. Everything feels like a dream. I just managed not to trip coming down the stairs in a ball gown to meet a prince.”

Fitz chuckled. “You look like a princess.”

“I prefer ‘biochemist’.”

“Me too. Now let this engineer escort a very lovely scientist to a ball.” He leaned in to kiss her, but she shrank away. “Jems?”

“My lipstick. I was heavily warned not to get it on anything. By which I think the very scary lady who did my makeup meant you. Kissing later.”

“It’s not your lips I want to be kissing later,” he grumbled.

Jemma patted his arm. “I suppose we better go. Your mother cornered me about etiquette and propriety this afternoon. Being on time was a big part of that.”

“Did my father say anything?”

“He told me not to bore the guests with too much science, then asked for a complete breakdown of the night-night gun. I gave him the basics and outlined some of the improvements we want to make. It was the first time I’ve made a research pitch to a king.”

“My father must have been thrilled.”

“He talked my ear off.”

Fitz was not surprised. Jemma would fit right into the family. “My mum’s brilliant too, but she’s into more social sciences. I’m sure she was happy you could entertain my da.”

Jemma giggled. “I’m glad your parents are such nice people. As long as I don’t do the electric slide naked on the buffet table tonight, everything should be fine.”

“There go all my plans.”

She laughed again, but then they were at the doors. Someone announced them, and the entire crowd turned to watch as Fitz escorted Jemma into the immense ballroom. It was covered in tasteful red and green decorations, and an enormous Christmas tree graced one end. Jemma’s eyes got very wide.

The air smelled of nutmeg and pine, and the guests were a sea of Christmas colors as well.

Jemma curtsied to the king and queen, and with that formality out of the way, the room became a buzz of conversation once more. Fitz put a hand on Jemma’s back. “I need to introduce you to the bigwigs, but then we can have champagne, and I can show you how poorly my dance tutors did in teaching me to waltz.”

He led her from knot of people to knot of people, and her smile and polite manners never wavered. He got impatient with the small talk after a while, but Jemma laughed and said the right things, and everyone, from the American ambassador to the Norwegian princess, seemed to adore her. 

It was far too long before he was able to claim her back and lead her to the middle of the polished wood dance floor. The orchestra began a new song, and he swept her into the steps of a waltz which she easily followed.

“You doing okay?” he asked softly.

“I’m somewhat terrified and overwhelmed, but otherwise alright.”

“I’m sorry.” He seemed to be saying that a lot lately. “It’s almost too much for me, and I’ve been doing this my entire life.”

“I see why you wanted to run away.”

“We still can.”

She was silent as he guided her through a turn, and her eyes were thoughtful as she gazed up at him. “I met your cousin.”

“Ah.”

“He’s very nice. I liked him quite a bit.”

“Deke’s okay.”

“I don’t think he remotely wants to be king.”

“No? I’ve never really asked him.”

“And there are so many good things we can do. From championing STEM education for girls to working against climate change.”

“I hate to tell you this, but there are a lot of oil reserves that belong to the Isle.”

“Yes, but I was talking to your father, and he explained the strict safety regulations and how the Isle is working towards more sustainable forms of energy.”

Fitz smiled. “I was doing work on that myself before I had to leave. Hunter thinks it might have been oil companies that initially paid for the kidnapping to occur.”

Jemma made a disgusted sound. “I have no doubt.” She stepped closer to him. “Fitz, I don’t entirely know how any part of my life here is going to go. Seeing my name and face on the news is taking some getting used to. But I think we can make the biggest difference being on the Isle. It will be a sharp learning curve for me, but as long as I have you, I’ll be okay.”

“We’ll do whatever you wish.” He kissed her temple. “This life isn’t easy, but I missed my home.”

“Christmas tide on the Isle of Alba is spectacular.”

“Children love it,” he said with a grin.

Jemma’s lashes lowered. “Do you want a family?”

Fitz’s chest warmed. “Yes. I know we haven’t talked about it, but I do. And not just because I’m supposed to. Some of my best memories are the times I spent with my parents when we didn't have to be official. I want to give that to another generation.”

“I want a family with you as well. Even if this isn’t exactly what I imagined in Seattle.”

“A family together. And I’m starting with you.” He glanced towards the clock. “Close enough, the cameras are already set up. We’re doing this now.”

****

Jemma’s heart fluttered as Fitz led her over to stand before the towering Christmas tree. There was a flurry of action as journalists and photographers rushed to be in position. She only had eyes for Fitz. He was smiling at her, the corner of his eyes crinkling in the way she adored.

Their little Christmas tree she’d thought he would propose to her in front of was a distant cousin to the one now providing a backdrop. She wished she knew what’d happened to the gifts from under the tree in Seattle. Fitz’s security had taken them, and she hadn’t seen them since.

Sometimes it seemed to Jemma like their little life together had never existed, and that she’d imagined all the long afternoons they’d spent talking in his flat or the sweet nights they’d shared in each other’s arms.

Only Fitz’s smile, clear blue eyes, and all the love she saw there, were the same.

Jemma knew she could say no. Not marry him, leave Alba and never come back, and after a while the media circus would die down. But she’d still be in love. Jemma would always love him. It was scary, starting a new life in the public eye, but Jemma Simmons had never lacked for courage, and she wasn’t about to start now.

The ballroom fell silent again.

Fitz took her hand and sank to one knee. Camera flashes popped like crazy, but all she could see was his face.

“Jemma Anne Simmons, in accordance with the writ law of The Isle of Alba, in front of these good people who make up the court of this land, I, Leopold James Fitz Radcliff, a prince of Alba, do ask you to be my wife and consort.”

Jemma smiled down at Fitz. There wasn’t a speech for her to flub. All the flowery words went to the man. Typical. “Yes,” she said, loud and clear.

Fitz’s shoulders relaxed, and there was another wave of camera flashes.

He pulled a ring from his pocket and slipped it onto her finger. She didn’t look at it, too entranced by the joy on her fiancé’s face.

He stood, and they turned together, hands clasped, to smile for the cameras. Jemma didn’t have to fake an iota of the excitement that was making her grin until her cheeks hurt.

Leaning over, Fitz whispered. “I have another present for you. Do you want to slip away?”

“Yes, please.”

After a few more minutes of posing for photos with Fitz’s arm around her, there was a hissed whisper of “Jemma!” from one side. It was Bobbi, looking resplendent in a green gown. She pointed to where Hunter was holding open a door, and Jemma tugged on Fitz’s hand so they could make their escape.

“Congrats!” Bobbi said as they hurried past, and Hunter clapped Fitz on the back before closing and locking the door behind them. They were in a long hallway, pictures of fierce-looking men and woman gazing down at them.

“Are these your ancestors?” Jemma asked as Fitz walked over to a table which turned out to not be just a table. There was a hidden compartment with clothing stashed in it.

Fitz switched his jacket for the chunky reindeer cardigan she’d bought him and immediately looked more like himself. It made her smile. He handed her a black wrap. “I am so much warmer,” he said, visibly relaxing. “And yes, these are official royal portraits.”

“Is one of them the one who made the decree about the palace having gold toilet seats?”

Fitz pointed to a picture of a stern woman whose eyes looked to be the same color as Fitz’s as he guided Jemma down the hall. “It was her. She was horrified about there being indoor WCs at all and insisted on the gold seats.”

“Can’t you just cancel that decree?”

“It’s not that simple.” He stopped at an otherwise unremarkable spot on the wall, pulled at a lamp, and the wall swung open to reveal a staircase. Well, fancy that.

“I am never going to learn my way around here. And why isn’t it that simple?”

“There’s a regular entrance to where we’re going. This is just a secret way. The place is full of them. I think they were for servants once upon a time, but they’re not used much now. And it’s not simple because there’s a family whose only livelihood is making the seats. If the palace no longer needs them, then they’re out of business, and that’s not going to look good in the papers. They’re also very nice people.”

Jemma paused on the narrow steps. She had so much to learn. “I’ve been reading history books on the Isle, but I don’t think they’re going to give me the complete picture.”

Fitz took her hand. “I’ll point you to all the books I had to read growing up. Some of them have the real dirt on the barmy arses that litter my family’s history.”

She followed him down the stairs, her fingers intertwined with his. “Some of them seemed very…stabby.”

Fitz laughed. “That’s not the half of it.”

“I could see it when you were bellowing at that poor woman who put Bobbi and me in a guest room.” She ran a finger over stones that looked ancient. This part of the palace was not for show.

“I’ll have you know that I did not, in fact, stab her.”

“Did you fire her? Because I’m not sure it was her fault.” It was a question that had been weighing on Jemma.

Fitz shook his head. “Nah, poor thing was already nearly having a stroke from realizing she’d put her future queen in guest quarters. My mother wrote a few emails about how to make sure the guest lists were accurate, and that was the end.”

Jemma relaxed, until the words ‘future queen’ sunk in. She’d technically be the queen-consort, not ruling in her own right, but it still came with all the benefits and responsibilities of the position. Which were a lot. She needed to start studying.

At the bottom of the stairs, Fitz turned down a hallway and punched a code into a steel door.

“Did this used to be the dungeon?” she asked, looking at the glowering stone ceiling.

“Yes, I think so. Don’t worry. we only put people we really hate down here now.”

Jemma rolled her eyes.

Inside, the room was large. Fitz flipped on the overhead lights, and Jemma gasped. It was a workshop of sorts. Some of it was very high tech. No, not a workshop, a lab. Though, oddly, half of it was unfinished.

“This is my lab,” Fitz said, walking over to a workbench.

“It’s impressive. Is that an electron microscope?” It was like being in a candy store.

“Uh, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “But my part isn’t your present. There’s not been enough time to finish it, and I thought you should decide what you need, but that side—” he waved at the unfinished half “—is for you. Your own personal biochemistry lab, equipped with everything you’d ever need.” Her mouth was hanging open.

“Fitz…thank you. I don’t even…thank you.”

“You don’t have to stop being you, just because you’re here. I needed you to know that. And, um…” He pursed his lips. “I bought the rights to the night-night gun from the company you worked for. It’s ours now. It seems like an industry—non-lethal weapons—that the Isle should be involved in. Also, I found our Christmas presents.” He smiled sheepishly and pointed to a bench. All the missing Christmas gifts from under the tree where there.

“Can we unwrap them?” she asked.

“Sure!” They ripped through the paper and laughed at the socks and screwdriver set she’d bought him, though Fitz laid them carefully aside like they were precious. He’d gotten her fuzzy slippers and a gift card to The Good Bean.

“I asked them to open a shop here,” Fitz said. “Maybe you can still use it?”

“It’s a lovely thought either way.”

He kissed her cheek. “Your big gift was supposed to be the ring.”

“It’s lovely. And you got me a princess cut diamond.” She held it up and watched it sparkle under the bright lights.

“It’s an Isle of Alba diamond,” he said softly. “But I think maybe I should get you another ring.”

“Whatever for?”

“It was purchased on my consulting engineer budget. I saw some of the media vultures narrowing their eyes at it. I suppose you should have something more ostentatious.” Fitz was frowning at her hand.

She hid it behind her back. “Absolutely not. This was bought in love, and I’m not giving it back. Don’t you have someone to “leak” stories like that to the press?”

“Well, Mack is head of…you know, he’s probably at work right now. I’ll text him and see what he can do.” Fitz pulled out his mobile while Jemma walked around the space that would be her lab, dreaming of what she could accomplish there. “He’s taking care of it!” Fitz called after a few minutes, and she tightened her wrap about her shoulders and picked her way back over to him.

“I have another present for you as well,” she said, and Fitz’s eyes became hooded.

“Do you now?”

“Not that,” she said, and he pouted at her. “Well, okay, that, but in a minute. First, I have something big to tell you.” She held out a hand, and Fitz took it as he came to stand in front of her.

“Fitz…I think we’re going to need to hurry the wedding because I’m just over two months pregnant.”

His mouth fell open, then he whooped and hugged her. “Oh, Jemma! When do you think…”

“The blackberry wine? The first time we remembered the condom.”

“But not the second.” Her prince blushed. “I’m rather fond of that night.”

“Well, we now have a souvenir of it,” she said with a laugh. 

Fitz hugged her close. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Are we seriously going to argue about keeping secrets?”

“Let’s not.” He gazed into her eyes. “But no more.”

“None.”

He kissed her, but she pulled back after a moment to look at his mouth. “Lipstick everywhere.”

“I look charming in lipstick and cardigans.”

Her heart did a somersault. “You do. Merry Christmas, Fitz.”

“Merry Christmas, Jemma.” His lips met hers again, and Jemma knew she was home.

_~FIN~_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are welcomed and loved or you can message me on tumblr [@sunalsolove](https://sunalsolove.tumblr.com) or pillowfort [sunalso](https://www.pillowfort.io/sunalso)


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